Nightmares and Dreamscapes
by BoundLight
Summary: Dean dreams of Hell. Castiel intervines. Takes place during Season 4. Dean/Cas


Dean struggled and thrashed as he was dragged down into the abysmal darkness. He passed countless chains strung high with tattered shapes at their centers; they cried out and reached for him, and Dean felt helpless in the knowledge that he could do nothing for them.

They hit what seemed to be the bottom, and Dean swayed for a moment, before they were dragging him off again, forcing him into a dark room. He could see nothing inside but a large platform with a rough silver rack at its center. "No." He ground out, kicking and biting at the demons surrounding him as they dragged him closer to the bloody thing. He screamed threats and finally broke down, pleading for someone, anyone to help him as they strapped the hard leather straps across his wrists and ankles, positioning him spread eagle in the center of the room.

And then they left, leaving him in darkness, the silence only broken by screams from outside as other souls were tortured.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he picked out a red light filtering in from above him. It wasn't much, but after a while the room gained definition, and he could make out rough walls broken only by a small table to his left covered in gleaming silver instruments.

Something in his gut told him that he knew what the table was, and his eyes jerked away and he struggled to calm his breathing and remind himself that he wasn't really here, and that this wasn't really happening. It worked for a few moments, but as the seconds turned into minutes, he began to lose his resolve, and the fear he was battling so hard began to seep through his very being.

Then the door opened, and a demon (_Alistar, his name is Alistar_) stood before him. The demon took careful stock of the room, and then moved to the table. He smiled, showing off rows of yellowing teeth, and he picked up all the tools on the table, holding them up, one by one, for Dean to see. His fingers paused over the last silver instrument, and an almost loving grin covered his face.

The demon (_Alistar_) picked up a horrifying (_glorious_) knife.

Its blade curved and glinting in the red reflections of Hell, and Dean already knew what it was going to feel like twisting inside him. He already knew what the blade would feel like in his hand if (_when_) he took the demon's (_Alistar's_) place. He already knows all this, but right now all he can feel is a biting fear as the knife comes closer, and presses into his stomach.

Skin starts to split underneath the knife, and then his blood is running down in thick rivers, staining his shirt and jeans, slicking up his leather bonds, and puddling on the floor.

Dean tried to bite back his screams, but soon they start to slip passed his lips, and choke out of his throat, and Alistar is smiling and laughing at every sound he makes. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the pain, but it permeated everything; it was all he could breathe, all he could think. The knife pressed under his chin, raising his face up to meet his captor's eyes. The demon leered. "What's the matter, Dean? Afraid?"

Dean clenched his teeth as he stared back into those cold eyes, his face a mask of defiance. "Bite me."

The demon leaned forward, his teeth scrapping against Dean's neck. His lips pressed against Dean's ear. "Gladly."

The demon moved closer, his teeth drawing blood as they ground against his skin, while his hands kept busy, lightly drawing the knife against Dean's rib cage, occasionally cutting his skin in obscene patterns.

Dean bit back a sob as he clenched his eyes shut, praying for death.

Then the world exploded in white light.

Dean blinked his eyes open. Alistar was screaming in agony, his hands coming up to shield his eyes as his form bled away and dissolved. Then the light receded in on itself and Dean made out the form of a man with pale skin and a shock of black hair off setting his piercing blue eyes. The light faded further, and Dean recognized Castiel, glowing softly as though bathed in an internal light, his black wings casting dark shadows behind him.

"C-Cas?"

The angel approached him, his light drowning out the horrors of the room, until Dean was awash in its brilliance as well. He glanced down at his stricken, bloody form and looked away in shame.

Castiel cupped his face and lifted until their eyes locked. "You are beautiful, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes as their lips met.

He woke with a gasp. His eyes searched around frantically and finally settled on Castiel, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. The angel was beside him instantly, running a hand through his hair and whispering words of comfort. When this didn't work he stretched his grace out to caress Dean's trembling soul.

Slowly Dean calmed beneath Castiel's fingers.

Castiel pressed a kiss to his temple. "Why do you always have these nightmares, Dean?"

When Dean said nothing, the angel took a seat, and drew him into his arms, cradling him softly and running a hand threw his hair and down his back. When the last visages of the nightmare had left him, Castiel pressed Dean back into the bed and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "Sleep now. I will be here."

And all Dean could do was allow the darkness to claim him.

He was lying in his old bed at his parent's house, back before everything had burned to the ground so many years ago. He looked down at himself; he was younger, much younger than he'd been in years; he guessed he was maybe five or six.

As he sat up his bedroom door opened, and his mother walked in, looking just like he remembered her, her hair catching in the moonlight. With a smile she sat down and placed a hand on his arm. He could only stare. "Did you have a bad dream, honey?"

Dean had trouble finding his voice. She smiled and waited patiently. Looking into her face framed so beautifully in the shadows, he was suddenly struck by thoughts of her dying in that fire while he watched from the yard and he held his baby brother's crying form as though the world depended on it. In her eyes he watched his world, his life, die in flames. He swallowed, and whispered. "Yes."

She sighed softly and guided him back into his pillows, brushing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, don't worry, honey. Angels are watching over you. They'll keep you safe and chase away the monsters and bad dreams."

Dean smiled as she pulled his blankets back up, and ran a hand through his hair. "Not angels, mom." He answered quietly, doziness creeping up on him as his dark thoughts were chased away at her soft caress, "Just one."

She paused, eyeing him quizzically.

"Just Castiel." Dean's eyes closed, and warmth flooded through him, lulling him into a deep dreamless sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, he felt more rested than he had in years. In the other room he could hear his brother moving around, and outside birds were singing. He opened his eyes and saw Castiel sitting at the foot of his bed, looking for all the world as though he belonged there, and a smile stretched across his face.

"Good morning, Castiel."

"Good morning, Dean."

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